Enjoy the Silence: Meditation with Mantras

I've been attending a weekly Kundalini yoga class for the last two months. It's a style of yoga that's very different from the power/vinyasa flow I am used to. The poses are dynamic (i.e., you're moving) but you do the same pose for several minutes. It might look easy on the surface, but I can attest--this stuff is intense!

What has really captivated me about this style of yoga is its bevy of mantras. Lots of chants and hand motions. It's like cheerleading in Sanskrit--but without the kicks, flips, and squeals. The mantras serve as a form of meditation.

Generally speaking, a yoga class is a meditative experience in and of itself. But there's something about throwing around all those Kundalini gang signs (better known as mudras) and the lullaby of all those foreign words that has swept me into a place where to-do lists and everyday woes are just a tiny blip on the horizon.

"Your strength is how quietly, calmly, and peacefully you face life."

                                                                                           --Yogi Bhajan

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically, on Tuesdays at 7:15 p.m.--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of stevoarnold via Creative Commons.)

Cheesy Gifts

In the car on the way home from work this evening, in the middle of our how are yous and how was your days, Andrew announced that he had a gift for me. He reached into his coat pocket and handed me a piece of paper. It was a coupon for a dollar off on Sargento cheese. Actually, it was two coupons. "One for now, one for later," he proudly reported.

I laughed, he laughed, and it was all good. Really good. Even though I can't remember the last time I actually used a grocery store coupon, that moment of a shared chuckle after a long day was exactly I needed.

Plus, I love cheese.

"Laughter is the closest distance between two people."                                                                                  --Victor Borge

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. And to find lots to laugh about.

Lucky Ticket

"The psychological and moral comfort of a presence at once humble and understanding--this is the greatest benefit that the dog has bestowed upon man."                                                                                   --Percy Bysshe Shelley

Our pup that we adopted nearly three weeks ago came from a home with two other dogs--one of whom had already been adopted by the time we were there and the other, a small cattle dog named Ticket. I met Ticket briefly at the pound. He had a lot of words, as is to be expected of anyone--or any pup--who has been cooped up for as long as he had been.

We weren't in a position to adopt the two dogs. Really, the idea never even crossed our minds. However, knowing that Ticket was a sibling of sorts to our new little girl, I felt emotionally invested in him, too. His sister got to go to a nice, loving new home. Ticket deserved the same.

When I checked Ticket's Petfinder ad on Friday to see if he had found a new home yet, there was an "URGENT" note attached to his description. It said that, because of his intake date, his name was near the top of the euthanasia list. I know, sadly, that there are thousands and thousands of pets out there who never get to go to new home--but it just seems so very wrong that they have to die because of it.

I posted a write-up about Ticket on Facebook, Twitter, the intranet at my workplace, and on Yelp. Several people responded, and a few others helped spread the word. When I checked his listing again this evening, I was delighted to see that Ticket had gone to a wonderful foster home and that he was making great strides in his new, less stressful living situation.

So, what I am most grateful for today is that there are caring souls out there who open their hearts and homes to provide foster care to pets in need of an honest-to-goodness second chance at a happy life.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--for disadvantaged pets live happily ever after.

All Wrong--but it's Alright

One of my favorite things to do is to take back-to-back yoga classes. The first a flowing, moderately challenging vinyasa class; the second a tranquil and restorative yin class. Together, they recharge me. And since I'm not able to get to a studio class as often as I'd like, I'm all about optimization.

Today's classes, however, were led by a substitute teacher--and everything about the classes was wrong. Not wrong as in incorrect; just different. My expectations were not met--but I wasn't entirely disappointed either. Here's why:

When the chemistry is perfect--student & teacher, husband & wife, best friends, business partners--joy is effortless. You want to spend all of your time in their company. When the pairing is so-so--or a bit rocky--it's up to ourselves to create the joy we're looking for. It's a daunting task, but also a powerful reminder that happiness is entirely within our own control.

I wouldn't say that I succeeded entirely in this pursuit, but I certainly took a step in the right direction. And for that, I'm grateful.

"Gratitude allows us to reshape the meaning of any situation, so we can choose the perspective from which we view a joy, a sorrow, a disappointment--even success."                                                                                                        --Dr. Robin Smith

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of madame.furie via Creative Commons.)

Putting Gratitude Into Perspective

I have a to-do list that's a mile and a half long--and an I want to-do list twice that length. I have lists at work and and at home, about the pets, about my writing, and about yoga. About decluttering and simplifying. Healthy stuff, us time, the holidays, and volunteering. As a result, I start a lot of sentences with the words "I have to."

More often than not, Andrew corrects me, saying "No, you get to."

Touche, my dear.

With a simple switch of a word--I get to vs. I have to--suddenly the to-do lists seem less overwhelming. Gratitude replaces obligation. It's all about perspective.

Getting in the gratitude habit For as long as I can remember in my adult years, the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas has been a stressful time, complete with feelings of not living up to the stereotypical and commercial expectations. Blech. Totally defeating the spirit of the season, right?

Between now and Christmas--and hopefully long beyond--it is my wish to take time each day to focus on all that I have to be grateful for. All that I get to do. All the good that exists in our world. And all that I already have.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of allyaubry via Creative Commons.)

Walking in the Air

Noah Biorkman is a 5-year-old boy from Michigan who was diagnosed with Stage IV neuroblastoma more than two years ago. He passed away on Monday.

When it became clear to Noah's mother Diana that her son would probably not be here to celebrate his favorite holiday on December 25, the family moved up its festivities to November 8. As part of that celebration, Noah's mother posted a request online for folks to send Christmas cards to her little boy. The request quickly circulated the Internet; caught  the attention of local, national, and international media; and tugged at the heartstrings of many. So much so that Noah received more than one million Christmas cards at his home. One of which was from me.

I sent Noah my last Raymond Briggs' Snowman card, which I've been hanging on to for years. For anyone who's not familiar with the story, it's about a young boy who builds a snowman in his front yard and, in the late-night hours, it comes to life. The boy introduces the snowman to his world--shiny ornaments on the tree, the fruit bowl in the kitchen, roller skates, and dress-up clothes--and the snowman introduces the boy to his world which includes a magical, soaring flight over the forest, ocean, and Northern Lights--all the way to the North Pole. It's a dream-come-true sort of event that comes to an end all too soon for the boy. All that's left is a fond memory and a tangible reminder that our time together is not infinite.

It's a beautiful story--perhaps the most somber children's Christmas story I've encountered--but when I read about Noah's mother's plea and her plans to give her son the celebration of a lifetime, I knew that remaining Snowman Christmas card was meant for this very real little boy.

Watch The Snowman--complete with the 1982 David Bowie intro (26:07)

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Because what fun is life if you can't dream about fairytale endings?

Even Vegetarians Crave Meat Sometimes

I once dated a guy who would talk with his roommates--in longing, graphic detail--about Thanksgiving dinner. About the crispy, crinkly turkey skin; the juicy meat; the flecks of sausage in the stuffing; the pan drippings for the gravy. Together they ooohed and aaahed over this fleshy feat.

"So, why not just eat it?" I asked, quite matter of factly.

"Oh no. We could never," they responded in unison.

That was my introduction to the world of not eating meat for ethical reasons. It had never occurred to me, really,  that vegetarianism was more than just a band of people who didn't like their mother's pork chops and swedish meatballs. Giving up meat a couple of years ago was not a great sacrifice for me. I just never got excited over a nicely-marbled filet or a roasted chicken like others do. Soon after though, I began thinking about what it meant to not eat meat.

Perhaps it was all those years of staring into my pets' eyes; the proliferation of words like "grass fed," "hormone-free," and "free range" in the grocery store; reading The Omnivore's Dilemma; or some combination thereof. But the idea of eating a once-living creature just didn't make sense to me--not when there were so many other food options available.

I hate it. It's just not an industry that I can support. I am grateful to know that there are an increasing number of farmers who are taking care to raise their livestock humanely--and the more people who support this kind of farming, the less profitable the factory farms will be. At the end of the day though, the outcome is the same: chili con carne and buffalo wings, lemon chicken and BLTs.

With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I too have been thinking about how much I would enjoy a juicy slice of turkey with some stuffing on the side and a drizzle of gravy across both. More so than the taste, I think it's the ritual and tradition that I'm craving most.

Early on in my yoga teacher training journey, I read a book called If the Buddha Came to Dinner. Essentially, it said that food that has been lovingly prepared--no matter what it is--is a gift, and that if somebody grilled the Buddha a steak, he'd eat every last bite and say thank you. Meat should not ever go to waste.

Does that make him any less of a vegetarian? Is it possible to still practice ahimsa and enjoy a traditional Thanksgiving dinner? Or a bacon cheeseburger for that matter. Oh, how I long for a bacon cheeseburger . . .

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Just because less is more is my philosophy on eating meat, doesn't mean it needs to be so for you.

I'm Alive and Well

 After a ten-day courtship, we adopted this little girl from the city pound in Providence on Monday night. She had been there for just over two months before Andrew stumbled across her posting on Petfinder. Two months is a long time for a dog to have to wait to find a new home.

We weren't exactly planning on adopting another dog at this point--but she fit the criteria we were looking for (if we were looking). I protested the idea at first, but once we started talking about driving down to meet her, I knew this was for real. Why should we put off the things that matter to us? For whom exactly were we always being so practical? Instead, we chose spontaneity and followed our heart--an hour south, across state borders, to a warehouse full of displaced dogs.

After meeting her, we couldn't imagine not rescuing her. Nor could we imagine the alternative. The sacrifices we'd have to make in order for this to work were minor compared to the hand she'd been dealt--and what lay ahead. If she could smile and wag despite her situation, then certainly we could do the same.

On the drive down to pick her up Monday night, the song "I'm Alive" by Kenny Chesney and Dave Matthews came on the radio. The first few verses gave me goosebumps:

So damn easy to say that life's so hard Everybody's got their share of battle scars As for me I'd like to thank my lucky stars that I'm alive and well

It'd be easy to add up all the pain And all the dreams you've sat and watched go up in flames Dwell on the wreckage as it smolders in the rain But not me . . . I'm alive

And today you know that's good enough for me Breathing in and out's a blessing can't you see Today's the first day of the rest of my life And I'm alive and well I'm alive and well

 Fitting words for a new lease on life.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Extra fur and all.

The Facts of Life, Part 2: Bad Weekend, Good News

I said goodbye to my beloved orange cat, Teddy, this past weekend. He was diagnosed last month, at 16.5 years of age, with advanced-stage pancreatic cancer. Although his days were numbered, Andrew and I committed ourselves to making each one as comfortable and comforting as possible for him.

I spent long stretches of time sitting on the floor with Teddy, encouraging him to eat. Chicken, salmon, tuna--our hallway was a buffet of small, stinky plates that mostly sat untouched. I quietly cheered him on when he ate and quietly cleaned up the carpet when those few bites didn't agree with him.

Day 33 post-diagnosis was a turning point. Teddy's belly gurgled nonstop, his eyes lacked sparkle, his personality no longer there. Andrew had "the talk" with me, but I knew it all already.  Our vet appointment was scheduled for Saturday afternoon.

Somewhere in the midst of bargaining and acceptance came an unrelated bit of good news: Andrew had landed a job--a good job--after nine long months of being without. During that long stretch of time, splurges and niceties went to the wayside. Bills became a challenge and our home became our haven. Included in that haven was an abundance of companionship and a new-found love of simple pleasures. Teddy and Andrew gave one another the gift of time.

Day 38. Saturday. Teddy perched upon my chest as we laid in bed that final morning, his paws at the very edge of the blanket; the blanket tucked up to my chin. His weight was just a wisp of what it used to be. I ate my breakfast while sitting on the bedroom floor that day, inches from the sunbeam that enveloped Teddy. I stroked his fur, kissed his little head, and recounted to him the names of everybody who loved him. But most especially me.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Even when it's hard to let go. 

I'm Gathering the Colors

My summer has been quiet but rich in simple pleasures. Soft-serve cones with rainbow sprinkles, outdoor yoga sessions, mini golf, sunrise walks and sunset runs, dramatic skies, leisurely seafood feasts, afternoons reading on the patio, quality time on park benches, fresh raspberries in my lemonade, sunbeam naps with my old cat, lush flowers beckoning me to stop and sniff. The list is long, but I've downloaded each and every sensation of the season.

"Gathering the colors," one of my yoga instructors called it, referring to the children's storybook, Frederick. The book is about a little field mouse who knows how valuable it is to have a harvest of vibrant, enjoyable memories to draw from that can help you get through more challenging times that inevitably lie ahead.

So, from here on out--and until further notice--I'm committed to focusing on everything that's bright and living and lush in experience. Such as:

• Brushing my hand across the lavender leaves
• Tuning in to the steady hum of insect chirps
• Sucking down wedges of watermelon before the juices drip down my wrist
• Watching the blue jays, cardinals, finches, and doves mingle and dine at our bird feeder
• Enjoying the sunshine on my shoulders and the warm whisk of wind by my ears
• Stopping to take in the talents of a street musician
• Savoring local and in-season produce
• Walking barefoot across the grass
• Breathing deep

"Supplies," Frederick calls them. Even more essential than a scarf and gloves for this New England girl, I say.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Photo taken in the Boston Public Garden during my summer staycation)